


The Mad Adventures of a Lost Hatter

by Erulisse17



Category: Alice (2009)
Genre: Eventual Fluff, F/M, Hatter and Alice, Hatter's POV, alternate POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-03 00:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erulisse17/pseuds/Erulisse17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York never felt quite right to David Hatter. But then he met this girl, see, and only because he was trying to be a gentleman and rescue her, he fell into a mirror and now he's in a whole different world that makes so much more and less sense. People keep asking if he's "The Hatter? The Harbinger of Legend?" and giving him Looks and it's a little disconcerting, if he's honest. Which he isn't, generally, but then he meets this other girl, and she makes him think that maybe being honest wouldn't be so bad...<br/>A retelling of SyFy's Alice from Hatter's POV, as he's grown up in New York and finds himself in Wonderland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Almost Right

The world didn’t quite fit in with David Hatter.

Others tried to tell him it was the other way round, but he knew it wasn’t. Maybe it was because he was British and living in New York, people said, but he had seen pictures and movies set in England, and they didn’t feel Right. They also pointed out that it probably stemmed from his being orphaned as a child, but it wasn’t that either. It felt like the world around him was Almost Right. Like they knew the tune of his favorite lullaby, but sang the wrong words to it. Or used metaphors that sounded slightly off.

His own name wasn’t even really his. The Hatter part was, that much he knew, but the David bit was lent to him by the rather melancholy gentleman who found him trying to defeat a much bigger boy in an alley in order to reclaim his hat on a rainy day in late March. The older boy making fun of him for wearing an oversized hat was Hatter’s first real memory, although they estimated he was about the size of seven or eight years (He also thought it was odd that years had sizes, but he when he asked about it, they all gave him a Look and ignored him). Before that was a blur of memories of things he was told were odd, but felt very natural. Grinning cats. A buck-toothed dragon. Colored teas. And hats. Many, many hats.

The austere old man who had found him had rebuked both boys for being so noisy at a very inappropriate hour, then snatched the hat from the bigger boy as he ran past.

“Trying to be a bit of a David, were you?” He asked slowly, examined the well-worn straw hat.

“A what?” The small Hatter had asked, getting to his feet and brushing off the bits and gobs of rubbish.

“Going up against that Goliath.” The man explained briefly, then sighed when the boy still looked confused. Handing over his hand, the man muttered, “Nevermind. Go home.”

“Can’t.” The low-voiced gentleman raised his brow at this perceived impudence. “I mean, I don’t remember where it is.”

Sighing again, the man spoke as if every word was reluctantly pried out of him. “Fine. What is your name, boy?”

“Hatter.” He responded promptly. Though everything else seemed hazy, he was certain of _that_ , anyway.

“What’s your _full_ name, boy?” The man asked again impatiently.

Hatter thought hard. Was a full name the opposite of an empty one?

“Hatter.” He repeated, hoping the grim figure before him would be satisfied with that. He wasn’t.

“Your name is Hatter Hatter?” The raised brow was back.

The boy looked around quizzically. “There’s only one of me. Why would I need two names?”

“Enough.” The man was irritated now, though Hatter couldn’t imagine why. It wasn’t as if _he_ was the one demanding full names and empty names and trying to give one boy two names.

Soon Hatter found himself at a police station, and was fascinated to notice that while he had an instinctual distrust of these uniformed men, they all seemed to respect his grim savior, as they all nearly fell over themselves with obsequious responses made up of “Of course, Mr. McTurle,” and “Right away, Mr. McTurle”, and “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some coffee, Mr. McTurle?”. He distrusted the Suit even more (though his jacket looked a bit plain), though he introduced himself as a ‘child advocate’, whatever that meant, and kept asking Hatter questions he didn’t know the answers too.

“What is your name? Where are your parents? Who are your parents? Do you have any relatives? Where are you from?”

Hatter tried to remember, he really did, but it’s no use remembering things if the few answers he did know only made everyone angrier.

“My name is Hatter, and I don’t really remember my parents. I remember a Tea Shop, and hats. I think I’m from the Upper City.”

The Suit and the man who found him stared.

“The Upper City?” The Suit asked.

“In Wonderland.”

This response made the gloomy man narrow his eyes and the Suit blink in shock.

“Wonderland.” The Suit repeated blankly.

Hatter looked between the two men and wondered why they were giving him such Looks. He would come to grow very accustomed to receiving these Looks, where people would glance at each other and him as if he had suddenly sprouted rabbit ears. Which he still thought was odd, because he seemed to remember a man who had rabbit ears.

The men were now talking amongst themselves.

“Did he have any sort of identification with him?”

“Just his clothes and his hat.”

“What’s a kid doing with a straw hat?”

“Porkpie.” Hatter corrected the Suit. The men, who had forgotten he could hear them, both turned in surprise.

“What?” The Suit looked confused.

“It’s a porkpie hat.” Hatter told him, proud that even though he couldn’t remember much else, he knew what his hat was.

“I didn’t even know there were different kinds of hats,” the Suit whispered to his melancholic counterpart.

“There are lots of kinds.” Hatter said, wondering how adults could be this dull.

The gloomy man who found him looked at him sharply. “What kinds?”

Hatter blinked, then began to recite the list that naturally appeared in his mind. “Akubra, balmoral, beret, bicorne, boater, bobble hat, bowler, busby, capuchon, cloche, deerstalker, fedora, fez, flat cap, fruit hat, homburg, kepi, kufi, night cap, pith helmet, porkpie, skullcap, tam o’ shanter, top hat, tricorne, trilby, ushanka-”

“Alright, that’s quite enough.” Mr. McTurle interrupted.

The Suit turned to his companion and tried to speak so Hatter couldn’t hear. “I’m beginning to grow concerned that the boy may have some sort of disorder, or disability.”

“Nonsense. Knowing the names of hats does not make one mad.” His rescuer shot him a piercing look as he spoke, then continued, “Send him to St. John’s Home for Boys. They treat their children well, but let them know that I will be visiting on occasion to ensure his well-being.”

There were more ‘of course, Mr. McTurle’s, and then Hatter grew concerned as the man placed his hands on Hatter’s shoulders in what felt like a very final manner.

“Now, David,”

“That’s not my name.” Hatter insisted, clinging to the one thing he was irrevocable sure of.

“No, but you can borrow it for a bit.” Blinking, Hatter stared as the man gathered his words. “It seems you’ve lost your way. And that’s alright. Many of us have.” He sighed quietly, then continued, “But don’t ever forget that you _have_ a way. And yours is a very special way, Hatter. It’s important. Keep looking for it, and perhaps, one day, you’ll find it again.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up in a peculiar grin.

“Or perhaps, it’ll find you.”

And with those words, Hatter was left with the thought that even if he was mad, perhaps he wasn’t the only one.


	2. Finding a Way

_15 years later…_

Nearly everyone who knew him believed that David Hatter led a charmed life.

He never seemed to be lacking money, though he was never seen working and constantly carried an air of roguish scruffiness.

He could get into any club, bar, or restaurant he wanted with nothing more than a smile and a few jokes.

He was always drinking, but never drunk.

He was friends of a friend of a friend’s cousin with everyone on the entire planet.

People couldn’t count the number of times he had simply walked backstage from a concert he certainly didn’t have tickets for, and was more often than not found drinking with the band members before, after, and occasionally during a show.

He was generous to everyone, although most of the gifts he gave were originally borrowed from someone else. He’d order a round for everyone, then be nowhere to be found when the bill came by.

Men envied his easy personality and impossible fashion that only worked for him. Women couldn’t get enough of his quick wit, crooked smile, and magician’s hands.

Rumors abounded, each more incredible than the last. He had been offered a modeling contract after someone saw him shooing a pigeon away. He was the secret boy toy of a famous actress. He was an exiled Morrocan prince. He was telepathic.

But the truth was far stranger than any whispered gossip.

David Hatter was Lost.

He had been Lost ever since he could remember, but felt it much more keenly as he grew up. Something was missing. His life was off-track, but he didn’t know what track his life should be on. Probably shouldn’t be _on_ the track anyway. Better to be on a bus, on tracks. People had a tendency to fall off when on tracks.

So he ignored it.

He drowned the feeling in drinks and clubs and parties and women.

Women like the blonde who was looking toward him with a tight dress and a sensual smile.

“Hey.”

Adjusting his trusty hat, and smiling that crooked grin, he introduced himself. “I’m Hatter.”

“I’m thirsty.”

His smile grew exponentially. “Let me help you with that.”

But then something changed this normal exchange of smiles and drinks. As she reached out to pat his hand in thanks, something clicked. The moment her skin touched his, his whole body reacted like she was an electric charge. His hair (the bits that weren’t gelled up already) stood on end, goosebumps spread across his arms, and like a broken compass that had suddenly found north, he knew with his whole being that he had found his Way.

Trying recover from whatever had happened, and hoping the blonde didn’t notice, Hatter walked to the bar and ordered her whatever pink girly drink she had asked for. As he waited, he tried to suss out what had just gone on.

She was special, somehow. He glanced at her critically. He had been with prettier girls, certainly, and even flirtier ones, if one could believe it. But what he felt had no connection to her looks. She was a part  of making him feel unLost, and he was going to find out everything about her.

A few drinks later, he had learned that her name was Charlotte (she mentioned a last name too, but was drinking as she slurred it. Chance, or Chase, or something.), and that she was getting married soon.

“I’m out on a stag spree!”

“I think you mean hen night.”

“What?”

“Whatever lucky young buck has the pleasure of being betrothed to you is out on a stage spree. You, my lovely bird, are on a hen’s night.”

She furrowed her brow, then stuck the tip of her tongue out as she smiled. “Wow. Smart _and_ cute. You are one of a kind.”

“If you say it, it must be true.”

Charlotte giggled, then grabbed his hands. “Why do you have so many rings?” She asked, examining his fingers.

“In case I need them, love.” He answered, returning the favor. A ring set with a central ruby and surrounded by green stones caught his attention and he leaned in for a better look.

Charlotte leaned forward to meet him. “Wanna know a secret?”

Hatter grinned charmingly. “Love to.”

“I stole that ring from my mother.” She whispered, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Naughty,” He mock scolded as she smiled.

“She says I can’t have it until I’m-” she paused, and Hatter felt she changed whatever word she was going to use, “older. But! It’s so pretty, and powerful, and I just love the way it looks. It comes in a special box, too.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small case made of spiraling wood. It rested on a silver base with a round emblem on top. This caused another small electric shock, as if it also was a shining beacon to his Way.

He fiddled with it gently at first, then tried to pry open as it stubborn stayed shut.

Laughing girlishly, Charlotte reached over to cover his hands with her own. “It’s got a hidden catch,” she explained, and pushed down on the small silver top while twisting the bottom.

With a quiet click, the box spilt in half to reveal the ring’s resting place.

“Clever,” he remarked as he examined the case.

“Let’s see how it looks on you!” Charlotte chirruped. He moved the ring box to his other hand as she tried each of his fingers until the ring slid comfortably onto his left pinkie.

“There! Perfect.” She beamed up at him as he stared at the ring. It felt… odd, somehow. Almost like it was familiar to him – or rather, more like he was familiar to it. His right arm started tingling, and he flexed his wrist to get rid of the pins and needles.

“I’m going to the ladies room. Don’t you go anywhere.” Charlotte commanded with a wink, then headed off.

Hatter spared her a smile, then went back to studying the ring. It looked incredibly old. And valuable. And yet, though he could usually narrow in on a price for just about anything, he felt like it was worth more than money, somehow.

A surprised scream pierced through the noisy crowd and caught his ear, and he pushed his way out the back door with a sudden urgency. Turning his head back and forth in increasing panic, he suddenly heard another shriek down an alley. He bolted down the side street just in time to see men carrying what looked like a limp Charlotte into the back of a van.

“Oi!” He shouted as it sped off, and ran after it. Or tried to, anyway. As the car rounded a corner, a strange looking man stepped out from the shadows, his cane clicking on the pavement.

Hatter stopped. He stared at this odd looking man in his white suit and gray jacket and tried to figure out why he seemed so peculiar.

“I’m afraid she’s gone.” The white-haired man spoke with a hint of condescension as he walked forward.

Hatter scrutinized the newcomer, trying to discern any malice, or ill-intent, or any preclusion to chicanery of any kind, but could feel nothing from him.

His eyes widened. That was it. That’s why the man seemed off. Hatter could pick up on the emotions of just about everyone around him if he tried, whether they were eager, or desperate, or blissful, or uncertain, but this man gave off nothing. No emotion, no intent, not a whiff of anything.

“Who are you?” He demanded.

A false smile appeared. “A friend of Charlotte’s.”

Hatter needed no perception to tell that was a lie.

“Charlotte took something that didn’t belong to her. We need it back.” The man started to circle him, and Hatter got a glimpse of his white hair parted into two strands. Strange, they looked almost like…

“The ring, David.”

Hatter’s head whipped around. “How do you know my name?” He asked with an undercurrent of danger. He didn’t like this man that he couldn’t get a read on knowing his name. It felt like a poker game where the white-gray man had all the cards plus a mirror to see Hatter’s hand. Speaking of hands, he realized he had Charlotte’s ring on his left and the wooden case still in his right.

“Where have you taken her?” He asked, hoping to keep the man’s focus on his questions, rather than his hands.

“Oh, she’s quite safe.” There was that veneer of a smile again.

“Then bring her back.” Hatter grit out through his teeth. Whoever these men were, they certainly weren’t looking out for Charlotte’s wellbeing.

“I’m afraid she’ll have to go back with me to face charges.”

Trying to move as stealthily as he could, he attempted to slide the case into his back pocket. As it moved toward his pocket, he felt it twist and heard the lock click, catching the unwelcome attention of his well-dressed visitor.

“So you _do_ have it!” The man growled as he leapt forward, using his cane as a weapon, rather than a walking stick.

After struggling for a minute, Hatter grabbed and shoved the man up against the brick wall with his right hand (which was still tingling, despite how busy Hatter was at the moment), and shouted, “ _Where have you taken her?”_

The long-haired man pushed back with his cane, which caused Hatter to stumble back (and get a distinct view of a rabbit pin on the man’s lapel, which also seemed to look familiar for some reason) and the ring case to go bouncing across the alley. Breaking free, the suited man snatched it up and ran through a small opening to the adjoining street.

Cursing to himself, Hatter followed, muttering that if someone could leg it that fast then they most definitely did not need a cane, and carrying one was really quite a dishonorable deception to anyone trying to give pursuit who might have thought they would have the advantage.

He gave chase through streets and doorways and up stairs as they entered a half-completed building. Hatter thought he had finally caught up with his quarry when he skidded around a turn and saw the man had turned into a room with nothing but some metal shelves and a giant mirror.

Hatter started to wonder, _What the hell is a mirror doing in a construction-_

And then the man jumped into the looking glass.

If he was moving at a more normal pace, he might have stopped and stared for quite some time at the sheer impossibility of someone jumping into a mirror. One could certainly jump _at_ a mirror, and then bounce off or get smacked in the face for their troubles by the ungiving nature of the glass. But that the reflective pane would simply swallow someone whole, as if it were made of water, was deemed simply impossible by the laws of physics.

But he wasn’t moving at a normal pace. He was running faster than he had ever run before, desperate to not lose the first guide to his Way, the one that held the key to him getting unLost. And that frantic speed that caused him to hurtle into the glass wall, only to be swallowed as well, nevermind how the laws of physics felt about it.

He fell through a tunnel of light and colors and wind that stole whatever sound he was trying to make. After an eternity, he landed heavily on something solid and that smelled rather nice, whatever it was. With great effort, he lifted himself up and forced his eyes to focus. He then felt like telling his eyes that focusing was of no use if they were showing him nonsense.

A glance down revealed that he was standing on a mound of grass with some marigolds, or maybe they were dandelions, growing on it, and that the patch of grass was at the end of a hallway filled with water, with offices lining both sides. There were lights and wires and ivy vines hanging everywhere, and it looked thoroughly abandoned.

“Hello?” He ventured, then saw the white-headed man go splashing past.

“Oi, you!” He shouted then gave chase again, although part of his mind observed that it seemed the man was going slower this time, and that he wasn’t even really trying to stay hidden.

After sloshing through a few river-hallways, Hatter burst out the doors and backed up hurriedly from the edge of a very, very long way down. Heights didn’t particularly bother him, but the prospect of falling off a fifty story building certainly did.

Hatter looked around with furrowed brows. The houses looked like most dingy houses in a bad part of town, except for the fact that instead of streets, there was a mile-long drop, with only a few sidewalks crossing the gulf between buildings.

Some movement caught his eye, and he saw the pale man (who almost blended into the colorless landscape) ducking down yet another alley. While running atop of rubble and moving through weeds, Hatter couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all familiar somehow. That he had seen these buildings, or buildings like these buildings, before. Just before he rounded the next corner, something made him pause. He peeked out from behind a neighboring tree just in time to see men carrying an unconscious Charlotte up some stairs of the structure across from him, with the pale gentleman following behind. The doors closed, revealing twin emblems of a rabbit head above a shield with a red eye in the center, and a banner that read “White Rabbit” floating across the bottom.

Cautiously opening the doors, he saw nothing but a maze of office walls covered with plants. Before he could decide how bad of an idea it would be to go inside and get more lost (he was lost… wasn’t he?), a strange sound drew his attention up to the sky. Flying out from behind one of the skyscrapers was what looked like a giant metal bug. It had huge steel wings, and a large searchlight coming from the front. The light panned across his hand, and he felt his skin start to burn. Deciding that he would take creepy viney hallways over flying metal cockroaches with burning headlights any day, he ducked through the doors before the light could do anything else.

Once inside, he walked as quietly as he could, trying to listen for anything that sounded like a guy with long white hair or an unconscious Charlotte waking up. Turning into a new hallway, this one with trees growing in it (was every building abandoned here? Or was it a really committed green technology fad for corporations?), he suddenly noticed some light at the end of the hall, illumination that looked more florescent than the soft patterns of sunlight shining on the plants.

He hesitantly made his way toward the sterile glow, noticing that there was a white table with a bottle of some sorts sitting on it, filled with something that looked uncomfortably sticky and red. Noticing that it had a label, Hatter picked it up in order to read it. It was labeled “Curiosity” on one side in a formal looking font, and when he turned it over, he saw a handwritten message finishing with, “killed the cat!”

Deciding that that was more than enough of his daily dose of eerie, Hatter quickly put the bottle back on the table. He looked around and noticed that white walls looked almost like mattresses, with small mail doors embedded in each one. He bent down and slid one open, only to find rows and rows of boxes full of comatose people, many with strange green marks on their faces and arms.

Thoroughly unnerved, he backed away quickly. Boxes of unmoving people never meant anything good, from what he could figure.

It was then that the walls started to move.

Not in a ‘oi, might want to slow down on the drinks, mate’ kind of move, but the kind where the table with the creepy bottle was gone and the walls themselves were distinctly moving towards each other in a rather rapid fashion.

Hoping the walls might change their mind on moving, Hatter pounded on the nearest white wall (Oh God, they were padded. Padded walls. That was never a good sign.), and was momentarily gratified when it stopped. Then the ceiling came down.

Like one of those shrinking block puzzles, each wall moved in after the others in a coordinated manner, giving Hatter the impression that they would keep getting smaller until he was the size of a mouse.

The walls finally stopped just short of acquainting Hatter’s knees with his face. One of the slits opened, revealing the dratted white rabbit man who caused all this infernal mess.

“Good. We have him. Take him away.”

“Oi! Freak! Let me out of this thing!” Hatter shouted, kicking the wall for emphasis.

“Temper, temper.” The gray-suited man smiled condescendingly. “Shouldn’t have come after me, little Oyster.”

Hatter had two reactions to that. One was anger, with a great urge to yank his little white pigtails, and the other was a feeling that even if he didn’t know what an Oyster was, he knew he wasn’t one.

Any other reactions were overridden by an overwhelming sense of panic as he felt the little padded box rise into the air. As he pounded the walls a few more times, only to have the box swing alarmingly back and forth, he could hear that same smug voice call out, “Must dash. Running late.”

As he stifled his urge to shout back, “Yeah, go on and hop it!”, Hatter suddenly wondered where the hell he was – and if he’d ever find his way back out.


	3. Choices

As he sat in the box, he could tell from the swinging motion and a pattern of lights and shadows crossing the cracks that the box was suspended and moving. He tried to think of what his options of escape were, mostly because being trapped in a box like a cat being taken to the vet was never a good thing, but also because it was far too quiet in here and it left him alone with his thoughts.

He hated being left alone with his thoughts. His thoughts were like those rude guests at parties that kept asking questions he didn’t know the answers to; like “So, when are you going to stop flirting and start a real relationship?” or “What are you doing with your life these days?”

At the moment, he had several thoughts at the same time. One was analyzing every possible way of escaping, another was annoyed about how his right arm still had that pins-and-needles feeling, and a third that sounded like a disapproving mother (not his mother, he thought, though he couldn’t be sure since he had no memories of her) telling him that this is exactly what happens when one cavorts with random women at seedy bars.

 _What, one runs through a mirror and ends up in a swinging box with padded walls?_ He retorted mentally.

 _Yes._ The mental disapproving matron answered. _Serves you quite right._

And because it was starting to feel claustrophobic in both the box and his head (plus his arm was still bothering him), he punched the floor.

Then he fell.

Rather shocked at his own strength, Hatter barely managed to snag the edge of the box with one arm before plummeting below. Once he had taken a moment to survey his surroundings, his grip on the edge got considerably tighter.

He was dangling at least fifty feet in the air, above a wide expanse of water. He looked around and noted that whatever weird metal thing that was carrying the collection of boxes was heading toward something that looked like a city.

So, option A, stay where he was and glide toward the sketchy looking city with the other padded boxes on strings, or B, let go and possibly plummet to his death, or drown in the lake, and try to swim to the sketchy city.

A sudden bump jostled the box, dislodged his grip, and made the decision for him.

 _Plan B it is_ , he thought, then crossed his arms over his hat and tried to keep his legs straight.

After hitting the water and sinking quite a ways down, he fought back up to the surface, made sure his hat was intact, then struck out towards civilization. He swam for what felt like hours, and dragged himself onto the closest solid surface. Coughing out the inevitable water he had swallowed (and trying desperately not to think about what was living in that water), Hatter rested his head on the ground and drew in the largest breaths he could.

His breathing exercise stopped as he looked across the ground and suddenly noticed a dead rat in a cage and the questionable-looking boots next to it. Turning his gaze upward, he saw a scraggly man with a long raincoat, large waterproof hat, patchy beard, and (what captured Hatter’s attention the most) a nasty knife that seemed to have all sorts of unsanitary blobs on it.

Adrenaline gave him enough energy to jump up and get in something of a defensive stance in front of this probable madman.

“Don’t even think about it, buddy,” He cautioned, and hoped the exhaustion in his voice was taken as confidence, or even danger. Though that might be a tad optimistic, considering how his day had gone so far.

Perhaps a tale of bravery would convince him. “I just punched my way out of a box carried by a metal flying thing, so just put the knife away.”

The man’s eyebrows knit together, then fear flashed across his face as the same metal flying thing that Hatter had described floated into view.

Scraggly Rat Man dived behind some pallets, and Hatter had enough common sense to follow. They hid until the thing had rumbled past, then his companion glanced between him and the patchwork metal bug.

“You’re an Oyster!” He cried, pointing accusingly. Hatter felt that he ought to be offended. “I’m a workin’ man – don’t want no trouble.”

“Suits see us together, we both be dead!” As the man Hatter decided to name Ratty grabbed his dead rat in cage and prepared to rabbit, Hatter realized that he had no clue where he was or how to find Charlotte and however creepy this rodent-catcher was, he was the only lead available.

“Hold it! I need directions!” Hatter shouted as he followed the scruffy man further into the disreputable warehouse.

“Go away. Can’t help no Oyster.” The man grumbled as he continued on.

Hatter racked his brain, then fell back on a method tried and true throughout the ages. “I’ll pay you!”

As he thought, the offer slowed the rat-catcher’s steps and caused him to turn back. Hatter hurriedly reached in his pockets and pulled out a damp bill.

“What’s that?” The other man stared at the paper with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

Hoping it was enough, Hatter shrugged noncommittally. “Twenty bucks.”

Ratty squinted at him. “Bucks?”

“I’m looking for a girl that was kidnapped and brought here,” Hatter explained, half wondering what the currency was here, and where ‘here’ was exactly. “If you help me find her, it’s yours.”  He held out the money and hoped the man was tempted.

“An Oyster like you?” Ratty questioned, and thought Hatter wasn’t sure what an Oyster was, it seemed likely both he and Charlotte were classified as such.

“Yes?” He hazarded.

With a raised eyebrow, Ratty took the twenty, sniffed it and then licked it. Hoping that was a sign of agreement, Hatter flashed one of his charming smiles and offered his hand.

“I’m Hatter, by the way.”

Ratty’s expression froze. “ _The_ Hatter? The Harbinger of Legend?”

Hatter’s smiled faltered at this, and he wondered if he had just employed the services of a madman. “Look, not really sure what you’re talking about, but the girl I mentioned – she’s probably still stuck in that flying beetle thing. Do you know where it’s headed?”

His face lighting up, Ratty pointed excitedly. “You, come with me.”

As he sped off, Hatter glanced around and wondered how bad of an idea this was.

“Quick, quick!” Ratty called back.

But then again, what choice did he have?

He sighed, shrugged to himself, and genuinely hoped things were not going to get any more complicated.


	4. Trying to Get a Cup of Tea

The sketchy looking rat man led him to a strange storefront with a rolling marquee that read “Tea House”.

Hatter sighed with relief. He could  _ kill _ for a decent cuppa. He hoped that maybe whatever weird place (state? country?) was, they had some quality breakfast tea. He had had one hell of a night, and some tea would go a long way in bring back some normal to his day.

Suddenly, Ratty began rifling through Hatter’s clothes.

“Whoa, what d’ya think-” Hatter started, then jumped as the other man ripped off his watch.

“Hey!”

“They see you’s an Oyster, you dead.” Ratty offered as a highly unsatisfactory explanation.

Still upset about his watch (not that he had paid for it, but he had borrowed it from a friend and had been meaning to return it, you know, eventually), Hatter finally sputtered,“What? Who’s  _ they _ ?”

“First, I go. Count ten, then follow. Okay?” Ratty told him, then ran off before Hatter could respond.

“No! Not okay! What’s in there?” He yelled after the running figure.

“The One Who Knows!” Ratty shouted back, then dived into the Tea House.

“Knows what?!” Hatter called, but he was too late.

Glancing around to see if there were any other, saner people (there weren’t), Hatter rolled his eyes and waited about ten seconds (which he could have counted with his watch, if he still had it) before heading toward the establishment.

Walking in cautiously, Hatter was surprised to find not the common atmosphere of soothing music combined with grumbling machines and polite baristas, but something more like what he imagined Wall Street to be. There was incoherent shouting, seemingly for no reason, and everyone there looked at each other with the encompassing suspicion of attendees at a cannibal convention.

He tried to pick up what people were feeling, but the whole room seemed off. There was Happiness, but it wasn’t because someone was pleased. There was Peace, but it felt jittery and stressed. As if these feelings were masks… imitations of the real thing. It made no sense at all.

There was another marquee in here, floating red and yellow words above a snoring man at a podium, but this one only evoked confusion. It showed things like, ‘EXCITEMENT +7.3%’, ‘ECSTACY +0.9%’ (was this a drug version of a stock market? Was that even a thing?), and ‘HOPE -2.7%’. A man on the far wall was listening to the cacophonous mob and translating them into numbers on a blackboard.

On the other side of the room, a woman was jumping at what looked like rows of jars on shelves while talking to a man next to her, like she was shopping for jewelry or shoes.

Hatter squinted at the jars. Not one looked like any kind of decent tea to him (and yet, he half-remembered having a dream with brightly colored teas) and they were labeled things like ‘Lust’ and ‘Passion’. Perhaps this was where perfume enthusiasts bargained with each other?

A desperate voice caught Hatter’s ear. “What d’ya want? What d’ya want?”

Turning, he saw one jumpy-looking man bartering with the cool customer across from him. “I’ll give you a half-measure of Hope for it.”

“Hope is yesterday’s Wonder.” The calm man scoffed, tapping his bottle marked ‘Desire’.

“C’mon. How about a little bit of Serenity, eh?” The fidgety man seemed to have the other one’s attention now.

“How much is a little?”

With a strange combination of care and eagerness, the man pulled out a jar of amber liquid.

The second guy seemed to think that was a sufficient amount. “Okay,” he agreed, then reached for it.

“Ah, ah, ah – switch.”

The two men slid their bottles to the other with mutual distrust and speedily twisted off the caps to gulp down their prizes.

“ _ Where the hell am-” _

Hatter’s thought was interrupted by the sharp crack of a gavel.

“I have an important announcement!” A nasally voice came from the mouse-like man (mustached woman?) on the podium. “A new tea has just come on the market! Ever get that guilty feeling? Maybe you abandoned the wife and kids and left them without a crumb to split between them? Or maybe you killed someone – a relative, or a neighbor.”

Hatter surreptitiously started looking around at the other people, trying to tell who was a killer and hoping they weren’t going to try for him next.

“And it’s left that niggling feeling in the pit of your stomach, that’s growing little by little into a dull, throbbing pain. Gnawing away at you, undermining your confidence, and making you feel sick, and worthless, and fearful.”

Spotting a particularly shifty customer, Hatter took two small steps to the left to get out of his line of vision.

“Well, fear no more!” Mousey announced in a suddenly cheerful voice. “Because Clear Conscience has finally arrived! The latest wonder of wonders, from that remarkable wonder of all wonders, the Hearts Casino!” After giving one last smile, Mousey nodded, then dropped back off to sleep, snoring as the shouting crowd went wild.

Before Hatter could figure out how to escape this looney bin, Ratty reappeared next to him. “This way.”

Shaking off a shudder, Hatter followed.

They walked into a strange office, where dirt and plants had replaced carpet, and a lush square of grass clearly marked the territory belonging to whoever was in that large chair that was currently facing away from them.

After a moment of silence, Hatter decided to start the conversation with the one thing he wanted the most.

“Would you ‘appen to have a cuppa tea?” He asked, flashing one of his trusty smiles.

Without turning, the chair waited a few seconds, then issued a very firm, “No.”

_ Well, no need to be rude about it _ , he thought, figured if he couldn’t get tea, he might as well try to get information.

“So… who are you? A friend…?”

The chair hesitated, then spun around slowly to reveal a dark-haired girl with a stunning blue dress and blood-red tights paired with purple boots.

Hatter’s tone suddenly changed. “I hope,” he added, eying her appreciatively. See,  _ this _ he could work with. Girls loved him.

She shot him a sobering look, then announced, “I’m Lyssa.”

Ratty hissed, “She’s the One Who Knows.”

“Knows what?” He stage-whispered back.

“Everything!”

“Oooooooo.” He grinned at her. “Isn’t that just part of being a woman? Knowing everythin’?”

To his surprise, his grin had little to no effect. “I know what’s worth knowing.” She answered, looking at him critically. “Information is a lot more valuable here than money.”

She stood suddenly. “For instance, how did you break out of the Scarab?”

“What, the beetle thing? I punched it and… fell.”

Lyssa raised a dark eyebrow skeptically.

Hatter coughed. He wasn’t getting anywhere with her. Perhaps something more… direct.

“As you can see, I’m drenched.” He gestured to his clothes and offered an innuendo-laden smile.

It was met with a single nod of acknowledgement.

Damn, this bird was really making him doubt the legendary power of his charm. She wasn’t like the rabbit man, who felt sort of like a slippery stone when Hatter tried to get a read on him, or the people out there with the counterfeit feelings. She had emotions, but they were clamped down so hard, they could have been behind a bank vault for all the good they were doing him.

“Look, this place, where… What is it?” He asked, still put off balance by her refusal to be buttered up. He took professional pride in his buttering skills, but she seemed to be completely unbutterable.

She offered a small, humorless smile. “Wonderland.”

Now Hatter’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a story in a kid’s book.” Granted, it was his favorite kid’s book, but still… Maybe she was messing with him.

He glanced up to see her blue eyes turn very hard. “Does this look like a kid’s story to you?”

It was so faint, he might have imagined it, but he thought he detected a trace of Bitterness slip out into her voice.

Remembering the desolate land, the desperate people, and looking at this hardened woman before him, there was a very clear answer.

“No.”

Lyssa swallowed and turned away, the Bitterness once again under control. “It’s changed a lot since then.”

Hatter blinked. “You’re sayin’ it was real?”

She walked toward him purposefully. “Oysters don’t know how to find it, so they tell themselves that it doesn’t exist, and everyone would like to keep it that way.” Once she reached him, she started looking him over critically, clearly displeased at what she found.

“Hold on a mo’, why’m I an Oyster?” He asked, still unsure how much of an insult that term was.

She ignored him. “Where is your mark?”

“Wot?”

“Your mark.” She repeated in an irritated tone. “Oysters turn green when burnt by the light of the Scarab. It’s how the Suits brand their catch.” There was that hint of Bitterness, back again.

“I… look, there was a light, earlier, but as soon as I saw it, I ran off. No burns, no… green things.”

Glaring at him as if he was at fault for not having whatever mark she was talking about, Lyssa was about to march back to her desk when Ratty interrupted.

“But, he’s Hatter! Tell her who you are.” He nudged Hatter in a way that was far too familiar for his tastes.

Lyssa froze.

“Really?” If it was possible, Hatter thought her voice was even more tightly controlled than before. She turned, then studied him intensely.

“The Harbinger?” She said, and was that a whiff of Fear he just got?

“Sorry, who?”

Both Ratty and Lyssa stared at him, then Lyssa explained, “Legend has it that the last Hatter was a… guardian, I suppose you could say, of…” Here she stopped, as if she couldn’t quite say what came next.

“Of Alice!” Ratty interjected gleefully. “ _ The _ Alice!”

“Alice?” Hatter repeated.

Ratty leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “The Alice of Legend! The one who brought down the whole House of Cards!”

Lyssa shot Ratty a pointed glare (glad to see he wasn’t the only one getting those), then went on, “It’s believed that the next Hatter signaled the return of Alice, and said she’d…” there was that hesitation again, “put Wonderland to rights.”

Swinging around to look at Ratty, she argued, “He can’t be  _ the _ Hatter,” She met Hatter’s eyes briefly, then turned away. “The Queen had the whole family killed. There’s no Hatters left in Wonderland, everyone knows that.”

Hatter’s heart clenched. The Queen of this place killed an entire family? What kind of country was this?

“I still want a good price.” Ratty insisted.

“Whoa, I am not for sale!” (Despite that one time in Queens where a rather aggressive cougar offered him a very nice sum to be her date to her ex-husband’s wedding, he did not appreciate being bargained for.)

“Information?” Lyssa asked, completely ignoring Hatter (which was beginning to feel quite hurtful, if he was honest).

Ratty shook his head. “Tea.” His eyes lit up feverishly.

Lyssa let out a quiet breath of disapproval, then walked to her desk, warning, “Not on the grass,” in a commanding tone when Ratty tried to follow her. She began writing on a pad of paper. “Tell Dormie I said you can have  _ one _ bottle of Exhilaration.”

“What’s that do?” Ratty asked in anticipation.

Putting on a smile that Hatter could see was forced, Lyssa walked forward. “That, Ratty, makes you feel the excitement of fifty Oysters, all drained just so you can taste what it feels like to win, just once.” There was a sense of mockery to her words, but Ratty grabbed the paper in her outstretched hand and ran like he had won the lottery.

“Oysters were drained?” Hatter repeated. “What d’you mean ‘drained’?”

Lyssa started, as though she had forgotten he was there, then offered him another humorless smile. “That’s why they call you Oysters, because of all the shiny little pearls you carry inside.”

“Pearls?”

Lyssa returned to her carpet of grass and started sorting through papers. “Ratty tells me you’re looking for someone.” He started, guiltily, as he realized he hadn’t even thought of Charlotte since he’d entered the Tea Shop.

“Her name is Charlotte Chase.” At least, he thought it was Chase, but he didn’t want to give Lyssa a reason for another shriveling glare. “She was taken by a man in a gray suit with a white rabbit on his lapel.”

The papers stilled, and Hatter saw her jaw clench for an instant as the unmistakable scent of Hate filled the air.

“I see.” And as quickly as it had appeared, the Hate was gone. Hatter had to admit, he was impressed at how well she could control her emotions. Usually he had a whole slew of feelings to sort through, and the more he focused on someone, the easier it was to sense what they felt. But with her, he got the slightest hints, the barest whiffs, and then, poof, they were gone.

“The White Rabbit is an organization controlled by the Suits. They travel back and forth through the Looking Glass and vanish people from your world to this one.”

That at least explained the mirror in the construction site. But the thing that he still couldn’t figure out was…“Why?”

“To use. In the casino.” She answered distractedly.

“Use?” Why did he feel like all he could do was repeat things he was an echo? (Least he wasn’t  _ the _ Echo… would that make her Narcissus?)

“Oh don’t worry. They’re fine. They keep them alive and…” The corner of her eye twitched, “moderately happy.”

There was something going on under that tight lid, but Hatter couldn’t quite get a handle on it, which was starting to feel like a direct challenge to his acclaimed powers of persuasion.

“Well, how do I get there?” He asked, relieved to have at least one clear goal.

Lyssa looked up. “You don’t.” Her tone brooked no argument. “Too dangerous.”

But Hatter was nothing if not contrary.

“Look, I have to, alright? I need to get her out of whatever…” He looked around for an appropriate description, “loony bin this is!”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” She turned away and went back to her papers while standing in front of her desk.

“C’mon!” Sighing, Hatter paused. Perhaps this wasn’t the best method.

Changing his voice, he started sauntering over to where Lyssa was leaning against her table. “I’m sure a…  _ talented _ girl like yourself must have resources at your disposal.”

She whirled around, brow furrowed.

Hatter smiled his crooked grin, taking a moment to appreciate how close he was to her. “You know, one of the privileges of being  _ the One Who Knows _ . I’m sure you have ways to get people to… help.” He popped the ‘p’, just to see how tightly she was wound.

The wave of Distrust and Suspicion that rolled off her nearly drowned him.

Yikes. Very tightly wound. Like a Hare-In-The-Box that’s one turn away from exploding.

“Lighten up.” He muttered, stepping back.

“Look, even if I could get you to the casino – and I’m not saying I can – I don’t know you. Maybe you’re telling the truth, and maybe you aren’t. But I can’t be sure, so I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

Clearly meaning that last phrase as a dismissal, Lyssa walked back to her chair and sat down, pointedly focused on the items on her desk.

Stunned, Hatter could only stare. For the first time in his entire life, his charm had no effect whatsoever, and he wasn’t sure what to do next. The fact that she didn’t trust him even the tiniest bit rather wounded him, if he was honest.

Wait, that was it! Honesty! He’d always said, the best lies are the truth.

“Oh. I see. You don’t trust me. Fine! I am genuinely hurt.” He pouted loudly. Lyssa slowly glanced up, clearly unconvinced.

“D’you know why they call me Hatter?”

Her eyes flicked up to his straw porkpie. “Because you wear a hat?”

Hatter opened his mouth to argue, then realized that was true. He did wear a hat.  _ Clever bird _ . But that wasn’t the point he was trying to make.

“No.” He lied, making a mental note to work that pithy comeback into a pickup line at a later date. “It’s because I’m always there when they pass the hat. So to speak. Philanthropy. Generosity. I mean, call it what you will, it’s who I am and right now, there’s nothing I want more than to find…” he was so focused on using every ounce of charisma he had that he nearly forgot the blonde who had started all this’ name, “ _ Charlotte _ ,” he emphasized once he had remembered, in case Lyssa somehow knew why he paused. “And get us both back to the world where this is just a charming children’s story.” He finished with his arms outstretched in a silent plea in order to complete the performance.

She gave him a measuring look that he was really starting to dislike, then seemed to make her decision.

“Okay, look, I know some people who… know some other people, who like to help Oysters. But let me warn you – if you think this is a frying pan, then out there is the fire.”

Relieved that she had finally given in (good thing too – he was starting to think she could actually see through him, and wasn’t that a chilling thought!), he nodded emphatically with the biggest grin he could manage. “Got it. You scratch their backs, they scratch yours…” Even her furrowed brows couldn’t dampen his mood. “Lots o’ scratchin’!” He beamed.

Rolling her eyes, she motioned at a side door. “There are clothes in there. No use sneaking around if the Suits can track you by following the sewer smell.”

He frowned at her, then gave his shirt a secretive whiff. Okay, maybe she had a point.

Resolved not to give up his hat, no matter how it reeked, he wandered around the storage closet, which also had a grass floor. A cheerful maroon shirt with paisleys caught his eye, and he soon found some corduroy pants that matched well. He nabbed a leather jacket that fit him like an old friend, and once he discovered some shoes that fit, he started for the door, hand brushing along the line of hanging clothes beside him. Suddenly, he stopped, then slowly backtracked until his hand met the fabric that had called to him before.

It was a soft, feminine jacket in a fetching shade of purple that complimented his new duds, as well as a tie that had gone hitherto unnoticed on a lonely hanger. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would look like on Lyssa. It felt like it suited her, somehow.

As he adjusted the tie, he stared at the jacket some more, until he shrugged and decided to risk it. He draped it gently over his arm, then went out to the main grassy room.

Lyssa glanced up when he entered, then looked back at her papers before realizing what she had seen. She brought her head up, blinked at him a few times, then asked, “What the  _ hell _ are you wearing?”

Stung, he looked down at himself. There wasn’t a mirror in the closet, but he’d always had a knack for choosing the right clothes for the occasion, and he was offended Lyssa seemed to think otherwise.

“New clothes. Like you said.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then clearly thought the better of it. Shaking her head, she stood up and moved toward the door that Hatter had come through with Ratty. Catching glimpse of the jacket, Lyssa stopped and asked, “What is that?”

Hatter smiled. Time to add a few more points in his favor. “This is for you.” He offered her the jacket rather gallantly, if he did say so himself.

“Are you trying to give me something from my own closet?” The raised eyebrow of skepticism was back.

Now, she made it sound like he had nicked it from a starving orphan!

“Just thought you might be cold is all,” he tried to say nonchalantly while still studying her reaction.

Her bright blue eyes darted from him to the jacket, then she reached toward it slowly. When he made no movement at all, for all the world like she was a stray cat who’d scratch him so much as look at him, she shrugged it on and flipped her hair out from under it.

_ Count that as a victory for Hatter! _ He thought proudly to himself.

Resuming her path towards the door, Lyssa suddenly stopped as the roar of the crowd drifted through the frame.

“Suits will be watching the front,” she muttered, then looked hesitantly at the door to the right of her desk. Hatter caught a strong sense of Fear before she straightened her shoulders and marched toward the back door.

He was still trying to figure out why it was only the back door that made her afraid when he heard Lyssa order him in clipped tones, “Try and keep up.”

_ Here goes nothin’ _ , he thought, and down the ladder he went.


End file.
